


Expectations

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Storms, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8852296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: Gosh, you two are domestic and boring. For the prompt: 'Could I request an sfw imagine where jimmy page and the reader cuddle on a rainy day and he gives her guitar lesson?'





	

You lie on the wooden floor, eyes closed, listening to the rain on the roof above you. You’re not quite sure what you should be doing right now – perhaps sacrificing kittens on the enormous, antique dining table, or perhaps hailing Satan. That’s what the press would believe you were doing.

If you told them you’d gotten back from an antique shop a little too late and gotten caught in a May shower, leading your long-haired boyfriend to have to cover your hair with his hands and sprint into your mansion, they’d probably fall asleep halfway through the sentence.

“(Y/N)?”

You open your eyes, and look up into smiling pale eyes; your lips curl up a little, and he sits down, still towelling his hair off, before lifting your head gently to rest it on his lap. By this point, if you were going by what the press would assume, he’d be beating the living shit out of you with one of his whips. Well, he does own a few, but he’s hardly some flailing madman with them all the time. You sigh; you’re secretly glad the press don’t see this side of him. It’s yours, all yours, and no amount of groupies can take it away.

“Your hair’s still wet. You’re going to catch your death,” he scolds quietly, and you hmm quietly in acknowledgement. “Let me dry it, c’mere…” He sits you up a little, and begins to fluff your hair with the towel. “Honestly.”

“Rock ‘n’ roll,” you giggle, and Jimmy looks nonplussed, before you shake your head. “Nothing. So what’re we doing for the rest of the day?” He looks thoughtful, and then sighs. You know soon he’ll be off of his break – back to recording, back to touring, back to three hotels a week and women falling in and out of the rooms. You’re not an idiot. You’re certainly not in denial. But for now, you’re together, and you want to make the most of it.

“Well, this has scuppered our plans a bit,” he says, and leans forward, kissing your head. “I was just going to practise for a while… you could do your own thing. I must be exhausting to spend too much time with-” You twist around to kiss him, and he closes his eyes – so do you, and you melt into him as the rain hammers against the windows and then jump a mile as thunder cracks. “Easy…” His hand on your back calms you, and you giggle in embarrassment.

“Well… you can play. I’d like to just listen. For a while,” you say quietly, and he sighs, before pulling you entirely onto his lap in the middle of the floor. You lean your head on his shoulder – he smells so comforting, if not a little… musty. Smoke. Laundry soap. Mint, maybe toothpaste. You breathe in, and he strokes your back.

“We could play together. A little. If you want,” he suggests, and you nod – he stands up, and grabs your hand, leading you into the practise room down the hallway. You think, as your toes sink into the plush carpets, of the first time you came here; how you thought it was a horrid, haunted old hoarder’s paradise. Now, you see it as your fortress. The dark walls and heavy furniture seem to be solidity in your hectic life.

“Come here.” He leads you over to the guitar rack, and grabs one. “Come on. Jam with me for a few minutes.” You giggle – regardless of your level of talent, you are not anywhere near ‘Jimmy Page’ level (who _is_?) and those lidded eyes crinkle as he smiles again. “You can hold one of these… right?” he teases.

“Hush,” you say, and he sits down, before pulling you onto his knee and resting the guitar on your lap. As his lips press against your neck you relax into his touch, and thunder rolls again. This is good. This is very good.


End file.
